


The Dark Rose

by Tovaras



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Abuse, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, From Love to Hate, Gen, Madness, Paladins, Power Play, Priestesses, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 08:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tovaras/pseuds/Tovaras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosmary Eledron was a beautiful priestess, blessed by the light and told she had a grand future ahead of herself. When meeting the Paladin Emmet Fersot, she believes she has been blessed with everything a woman can hope for.</p>
<p>But has she truly been blessed, or is it more like a curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is something of the darkest stuff I have ever written. ._.

_Nervous eyes darted from side to side, watching the people as they passed her by. People of all races and both genders, but it didn’t matter to her. They were just as scary either way._

_The towering night elves, looking intimidating no matter what they did. A simple greeting sounded like a threat in her ears. She knew they hated this alliance and she could understand why people didn’t trust them either. They were ready to kill anyone to protect their own cause. Or so she had heard…_

_The short dwarfs, crude in the way they spoke and acted. Not a caring in the world about the welfare of others as long as they got their beer. She had no doubt they would crack a head open if they got in the way of their beverages…_

_The small gnomes, a look of evil and cunning in their eyes. They claimed their used their ingenious nature for the greater good for all, but she didn’t believe them what so ever. She knew they were using their inventions for something bad. She had heard about the happening in Gnomeregan, about inventions having taken over. Of gnomes going mad…_

_The large Draenei, even bigger than a night elf and twice as intimidating as one. They faces looked so hard, she found it hard to read them or even understand them. Claiming they came from a different world, having crashed in a ship in Kalimdor. They even claimed to follow the light, but she wasn’t sure if she believed that. After all, what was the light anyway..? What was it good for, when it couldn’t, or wouldn’t, protect its wielder?_

_And then there were the humans…_

_She hissed silently, feeling the sweat form on her brow from the mere thought of humans._

_She despised them, thought of them as vermin. If the other races in the alliance were bad, then humans were the lowest of the low. They couldn’t be trusted what so ever. They would paint their true intentions with pretty words and then rip you apart, sucking you dry of everything you had…_

_Nobody was to be trusted.  
Even the most honourable of people were filthy creatures that all too easily swayed to the path of evil._

_Only darkness could be trusted…  
Darkness was eternal, not to be mistaken. _

_Darkness could hide you, protect you, when the light gave you away and left you to suffer._

_She knew all to well the truth to this, she knew that in the end, you stood alone._

_She closed her eyes, removing the world from her mind as she tugged her hood further down her face. She wished for darkness so she could slip away without anyone noticing her._

_Darkness…_

_It was her only friend. Always had been, from when she was young and foolish._

_She could remember it like it was yesterday._

***

“The church is all clean now, mother,” Rosmary called out as she walked up to her mother, a broom still in her hands. “Shall I go out and see if the stairs and street need a sweeping?”

An elderly woman dressed from top to toe in white nodded as she turned away from the holy symbols on the altar, giving Rosmary a smile. “If you would not mind, dear. After all, the house of the light must look presentable at all times.”

Rosmary just nodded eagerly before walking with fast steps towards the exit. The elderly woman smiled before looking lovingly over towards an elderly man that came out from one of the side-rooms. “She is growing up so fast, husband… She has turned into such a lovely young woman…”

“Aye, she is,” the man replied as he walked over to his wife, kissing her cheek before smiling down at her. “And one day she will follow on our footsteps and take over this church for us. She will make a fine priestess. She truly has been blessed by the light in every way. Your lovely looks. Your talents in the art of healing.”

The woman blushed before smiling up at her husband. “Yes, my dear… She has been blessed in every way possible. She is destined to become something great.”

Meanwhile Rosmary was busy sweeping the stairs of the church, humming as she did so. Her long, ebony hair was dancing with every movement, the slight breeze helping in making it dance around her. Her skin was pale, though not unhealthily so. It only helped in enchanting her lovely and fair appearance, making her look like a doll. The white robe belonging to the church of Stratholme only made her look more innocent, even holy, being the reason of many admiring looks from suitors around town. 

A husband though had never been on Rosmary’s mind. She felt she was married to the church and the light, putting her duties above her own personal life. As long as she had the light and her duties, she thought, she would have no time for a family. It would just have to wait. Besides, she could not marry some commoner. She would have to find a man of the light, a priest like her father perhaps…

She was so caught up in her own duties that she failed to hear the sound of armour and heavy footsteps approach the church until a voice spoke up.

”Excuse me, miss?”

Looking up from her task, stopping the movements from the broom, Rosmary felt her breath catch in her chest as she watched a stranger approach her from the bottom of the stairs. 

He was quite the stunner, she thought, admiring the man’s look. Long, blonde hair, giving the man a pure look to him. Intense-looking blue eyes, burning with a passion and intensity. A handsome face, though he had a nasty-looking scar on his left cheek. No doubt from battle, Rosmary guessed as she continued to look at the handsome man. The scar didn’t really put a dampening on his appearance, if anything he just looked more mature.

Letting her eyes trail from his face, she took in the mighty-looking mace resting on his shoulder, supported by the grip from a strong-looking, gloved hand. His metal armour was clean, the sun making the silvery metal shine because of the reflection. It looked like he was glowing with an inner light, making him even more pleasant to look at. From his belt was a book, a libram she recognised, fastened with a solid chain, the symbol on the cover glowing lightly in blue. He was wearing a tabard with the seal of the Silver Hand, so he was without a doubt a paladin. He even had the mark of Lordaeron attached to the front of his cape. Maybe he was even a part of Uther the Lightbringer’s own army… 

“Miss?”

Snapping out of her daydream, Rosmary blushed and looked away, smiling shyly. “Pardon me good seer, I didn’t mean to stare,” she said in a small voice, feeling embarrassed that she had been caught staring in such an obvious way. “I just saw the tabard and I just got intrigued…”

The man chuckled, a deep rumbling sound coming from the depths of the man’s throat. Giving her a gentle smile, he used a gloved hand to remove some of the blonde strands of hair away from his face. “Do not feel embarrassed, miss. It is no crime to stare when curious. If anything, I shall take it as a compliment.”

Rosmary just nodded slowly as she turned her back against the man, once again caught by surprise by the man’s handsome appearance. “Still… It is not suited for a lady to stare. It is not polite either.”

“When being stared at by a lady such as yourself, I see nothing wrong with it,” the man murmured before chuckling, bringing a hand to his neck nervously as he gave a sheepish smile. “Well now, I seem to have completely forgotten my manners as well,” he murmured before bowing deeply for Rosmary. “My name is Emmet Fersot.” Peeking up between his blonde hair, he reached out a hand to Rosmary. “May I be so bold and ask for your name?”

Rosmary flushed and nodded, reaching out her own hand to Emmet. “R-rosmary Eledron. It is an honour to meet you, sir Fersot.”

“Rosmary,” Emmet murmured and took Rosmary’s hand, kissing it lightly. “A lovely and suited name for a flower such as yourself. And believe me, the honour is all mine.”

Straightening back up, Emmet gently released Rosmary’s hand and smiled. “Now… With the dangers of being rude, might I ask for you to escort me to the tavern? I am afraid I am not very well known around these parts and I’d hate to end up somewhere I am not supposed to.”

“Oh? This is your first time in Stratholme?” Rosmary asked, giving the man a curious look.

Emmet nodded while rubbing his neck sheepishly. “Yes, I am afraid so. I was enrolled in the army not long ago and before that, I wasn’t very… Well-travelled,” he confessed, making Rosmary giggle from the man’s bashfulness. 

“Very well, I shall help you then,” she smiled before walking towards the entrance of the church. “Just wait here, I will just let my parents know!”

“Of course,” Emmet replied and bowed before turning around, looking over the city with curiosity. 

Smiling, Rosmary placed the broom by the entrance of the church before hurrying inside, eager to ask her parents for permission. Taking a moment to straighten out her clothes at the corner, Rosmary regained her composure before entering the main hall of the church, approaching the man and woman by the altar. “Mother? Father?”

Looking up from the scroll he was reading, Rosmary’s father gave his daughter a small smile before nodding. “Yes, dear? Have you finished your chores already?”

Rosmary shook her head before lowering her head ever so slightly. “Not yet, father, but I must ask something off you.”

Blinking, Rosmary’s father carefully rolled the scroll together again before nodding to his daughter, urging her to continue.

“A man of the light came by the church and asked if I could be so kind to show him to the inn. I promise that I shall start my chores right away after I have done so,” Rosmary continued, having difficulties with keeping the excitement out of her voice.

The priest raised an eyebrow as Rosmary spoke, slowly tapping the scroll against his other hand as he weighted his daughter’s words. “A man of the light, hmm..?” 

Rosmary nodded again while letting a modest smile play on her lips. She didn’t want to seem eager, that was not appropriate for a lady. Still, as her father kept silent, she could not help but feel a little impatient.

Finally he nodded and spoke up, a smile of his own playing on his lips. “I can not see what harm that could do, and you have already promised me to do your chores later. And I know you are good for your word, my flower. You have never failed to let me down, not once. And it would be dishonourable to let the young paladin roam around in the city without help. Go, my daughter, and help the servant of the light.”

“Yes, father,” Rosmary replied and bowed lightly in respect and gratitude. Her heart was already beating hard in her chest as she turned and walked back to speak to the man, eager just to see him again. It frightened her, the way she had already become so interested in him, but she felt it was more curiosity than anything else. While she had seen paladins before, she had never been so close to a man blessed in such a way before and it fascinated her.

Her smile only turned wider when she saw the Paladin still waiting outside for her, having even picked up her broom and finished the rest of the church’s stairs for her. “You did not have to do that, kind ser,” she called, making the man look up and smile.

“A small price to pay in exchange for a lovely woman showing me around.”

Blushing, Rosmary let out a small, nervous giggle as he stopped next to him, reaching out to take the broom from him. “Nonsense, ser,” she murmured in a shy voice, looking down as she held the broom in a tight grip in her hands.

Feeling a finger under her chin, lifting her head up, Rosmary let out a small gasp as she found herself locked with Emmet’s gaze. He smiled before removing his hand and cleared his throat. “Forgive me, ma’am. I did not mean to get so close and personal. I just… I do not wish to embarrass a lady of the light,” he murmured.

Rosmary shook her head and walked over to place the broom next to the church’s grey stone wall. “Do not think off it, ser,” she replied as she walked back. “Now… You wanted the nearest inn?” 

Emmet nodded and bowed for Rosmary, gesturing for her to go before him. “Lead the way, my lady and I shall follow.”

The priestess only smiled brightly at that as they walked together into the busy streets of Stratholme, unknowing that this was the day when her whole world would change for forever.


	2. Chapter 2

_Her eyes narrowed as he watched a young man lead an even younger, innocent looking woman down the street, her hand on his arm._

_She hissed in a low voice._

_The sight made her sick. Men, having such control over the ladies with just a wink of an eye and a well-chosen word. They were all scum, all just wanting the same, nasty thing. They all just waited for that one opportunity where they could bring their lady home and rid her off her dress, knickers and stockings, putting their filthy hands on their bodies and doing nasty, unholy things._

_Not that women were any better, oh no no._

_No no, she had seen her share of women playing on their bodies to bend the man to their will. Lowering themselves to a quick tryst in a dark alley. Even making money off it._

_Even in times of dire disasters did not ease the lust and darkness that was creeping around in the heart and soul of every living being. Rosmary knew; she had tasted it first hand._

_Even the most holy of people could, and would, all too easily submit themselves to darkness._

***

Carefully sliding her hand out of Emmet’s, Rosmary flashed the young paladin another smile before waving after him. “Stay safe,” she called out, earning a happy grin and a wave back before the young paladin snapped the reins and let his mount gallop out of the gates from Stratholme.

Rosmary let out a small, happy sigh, placing her hand over her chest to still her beating heart. Emmet would be back again soon and then they could meet again.

For over two months now the two of them had met, sharing conversations and walks under the moon as they got to know one another.

Sometimes Emmet would leave to go on patrols and training with the rest of the Lightbringers army, but he would always return to Stratholme. He would always return to her.

Though the next time he came would be special. Last night, Emmet had asked Rosmary if he could officially ask her parents for permission to see her so they didn’t have to sneak around. He was an honourable man and he didn’t wish to shame her by sneaking around and having her break her parents’ rules. The thought of Emmet thinking so highly of her made her blush and long for the day when he would return to her side.

Hurrying back to the church, Rosmary allowed herself a moment to calm down before entering the building in silence. She could hear voices inside and she guessed that her father was having a service right now.

Carefully brushing some invisible lint of her robes, she carefully slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind her before moving to the side so she could watch the service. She liked to watch her father preach to the people, to see the love he had for the people and their God. It soothed her, brought a light into her soul that she could carry around with her. It also gave her strength for the question that buzzed around in her mind and while she felt nervous, she was also excited. She just knew that her parents would love Emmet.

She barely noticed it when the people started leaving the church, bowing to her as they left the great hall. She quickly plastered up a bright smile, bidding them good bye, hoping that her cheeks weren’t terrible red. She had completely lost herself to her daydream about Emmet and could only pray that her parents hadn’t noticed. 

As the last person left, Rosmary slowly walked up to her father, gathering the few books with hymns that were left behind after the service. The people were usually very good at bringing them back to the table by the entrance so she only carried five off them once she reached her father.

Her father removed the vestment covering his robes, carefully draping it over his arm before turning, jumping as he spotted his daughter. “Oh, Rosmary. Dear child, you are so quiet, you should warn me when you approach me like that.”

Rosmary gave her father a humble smile and bowed her head. “Forgive me, father. I just do not wish to make unnecessary noise in the house of God.”

He smiled and placed his hand on Rosmary’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “You are humble, my child. You make me and your mother so proud,” he murmured before releasing her, moving past her before gesturing for her to follow. “Put the books at the back,” he added quickly as he walked to one of the side-rooms in the church. “And come to my office.”

Rosmary nodded and walked quickly to the entrance, placing the books neatly onto the table, even taking the time in making sure that the books were neatly stacked. Once she was done, she followed her father to the back room, knocking on the door before opening it. Her father nodded, carefully straightening out the vestment as it was hung over a knob in the wall. “Now, Rosmary,” he murmured, not looking at her as he took his place behind a small desk in the room. “What can I do for you? I can tell that something is on your mind, my dear.”

Rosmary smiled some, feeling her cheeks redden some from her father’s direct question. She should have known that he would realise that she wished for something, she didn’t often go to him after service after all, seeing as she had duties to tend to. “You are right,” she murmured, placing a hand against her neck, rubbing her fingers nervously over the vein she felt there. “There is… Something I wish to speak to you about.”

He tilted his head, studying his daughter silently before nodding for her to go on.

“Father, I have met a man,” Rosmary spoke in a quiet voice. “His name is Emmet and he is a Paladin,” she added quickly as she saw her father’s eyebrow rise in surprise. “I met him outside the church, some time ago. He was lost, a paladin fresh out of his duty and a newcomer to Stratholme. He asked to meet me again for conversations and he now wishes to meet with you and mother so he can properly ask for permission to see me in public.” She smiled some, feeling her cheeks tingle. “He does not wish to bring shame on me nor my family by seeing me in secret. He says that is below us both.”

She bit her lip as she watched her father frown, wondering if she had gone about this all wrong as he brought a hand to his chin and gently stroked over his skin. She had never done anything like this; this was the first time she had been asked out by a man in her life, despite her being twenty-two. Her status in the town as well as her parents left her all but untouchable to men if her parents didn’t find them “holy” enough.

“A paladin, you say?”

Rosmary nodded. “Yes, yes. A holy man, strong in his faith and with a kind heart.”

Her father nodded slowly, closing his eyes before turning around, looking out through the window of his small office. “I would like to meet this man,” he said finally, after a long stretch of time and with an office so silent that Rosmary could swear that she could hear the flames from the lit candles flicker. “And then I will decide if his worthy of seeing you frequently.” He turned around and flashed his daughter a kind, warm smile. “Have him come to my service tomorrow evening, Rosmary, so I can talk to him.”

The young priestess’ face broke into a huge smile and she resisted the urge to run over to her father and hug him. “Thank you, father,” she replied instead, curtseying with a deep, elegant gesture to the priest before hurrying out through the room to continue her duties. Oh, she could not wait until she could tell Emmet the good news!

The paladin wasn’t hard to find, conversing with other paladins at the local inn, laughing and enjoying a cold mug with ale after a hard days work chasing orcs.  
As she entered, she still found it so amusing and yet so humbling that they all arose from their chairs and gave her a bow, greeting her as “priestess”. Still, she smiled at them before looking at Emmet. “I wondered if I could have a word with you, please.”

Emmet blinked his eyes before nodding, stepping towards Rosmary. “Certainly, my lady. Shall we step outside?”

“Actually, it is a private matter,” Rosmary replied, giving Emmet a small, shy smile. “Could we take it somewhere where we would not be disturbed?”

Emmet looked more worried now, but he hid it quickly with a warm smile and gestured towards the stairs that lead up to the inn’s rooms. “Certainly, my lady. Will my room be sufficient for a conversation?”

“It will be perfect.”

Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she took her time walking up the stairs, waiting at the top of them so Emmet could show her where his room was. He was right behind her and as soon as he reached the top, he walked to his room, inserting a brass key from his belt-pouch into the lock before opening the door. “After you, my lady.”

Rosmary smiled and entered the room. Emmet came right behind her, closing the door behind him before reaching out to take her hand with both of his own. “What is it, dear Rosmary?”

“Oh, Emmet,” Rosmary smiled widely and moved to place her free hand on top of Emmet’s. “I have wonderful news for us!”

“What is it?”

“I spoke to my father this morning, about what we discussed. He has agreed to meet you and invited you to our service tomorrow morning so he can talk to you.”

Emmet smiled back, squeezing her hand. “Oh, that is wonderful news! I am honoured, my dear. Tell him I will happily accept the invitation and I will be there tomorrow, armour shined and faith at the ready.”

Rosmary smiled happily and moved to give Emmet a quick hug, though ended it just as fast. It wasn’t appropriate for a lady to do such after all. “Then I will see you tomorrow, Emmet,” she murmured in a shy voice.

Emmet smiled and gave Rosmary a small bow. “I will look forward to it, my lady.”

That evening, Rosmary felt restless, sitting by the window in her room, gazing out over the city while brushing her hair. She was excited about tomorrow, hoping that her father would approve of Emmet.  
She had never felt something like this for a man before, but something about Emmet just drew her to him. His charm, his faith… He was handsome, kind and he seemed to wish to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him.

She giggled softly for herself, feeling her cheeks heat up from just thinking about him. She had never really thought about men before, at least not in the way she was thinking about Emmet. A man was to be a provider, a protector of the family first and foremost, that is what she believed. But now… Now she was convinced that Emmet was more than that, that he was the man of her dreams. A gift from God maybe, for being a faithful servant. A rock she could cling to if she felt scared, someone to protect her.

Smiling, she gently reached out and touched her reflection in the mirror. She was truly blessed, having met a man such as him.

“Oh, stop acting like a silly girl, Rosmary,” she scolded herself, getting up from the small chair and walked towards her bed. “You have a long day tomorrow and you need to be ready.”

As she lied down on her bed though, blowing out the flame from the small lantern resting on the table beside it, she felt that tomorrow just couldn’t come fast enough.

***

“So this is the young man who has asked my permission to see my dear Rosmary.”

Rosmary looked down, hands clasped together in front of her while letting her father inspect Emmet with a strict look on his face, going around the paladin as he looked him over.  
“You know, she is my only daughter and she is to take over here once her mother and I are gone,” he murmured softly.

“I am aware,” Emmet replied, looking unfazed, though humble as her father continued to inspect him. “I would not dream of taking her away from her family, nor make her shun her duties and responsibilities. I only wish to be able to see her without bringing shame to her or her family.” He gave Rosmary a warm smile. “And, if it should be fitting… To see where our… Relationship takes us next.”

Rosmary’s father game a small nod, pursing his lips a little as he stopped in front of Emmet, still looking him over. “You are saying you will show her respect. And you are a man devoted to the light. I trust that you know right from wrong. And have a sense of honour and duty.”

“As necessary and demanded for any paladin belonging within the Lightbringers ranks,” Emmet murmured. 

The priest nodded, rubbing his chin, looking directly into Emmet’s eyes. Emmet didn’t flinch under the gaze, holding his ground with a firm stance.

“I see nothing wrong with you two seeing one another.”

Rosmary looked up at her father, smiling widely. “Really, father? You mean that?”

The priest nodded and gestured towards Emmet, allowing Rosmary to step forward. Emmet smiled just as widely, spreading his arms towards Rosmary and taking her into his arms. “Good Father Eledron, I am honoured and blessed that you allow me to see your beautiful daughter,” he murmured, hugging her closely.  
Rosmary just beamed up at Emmet, her face split into a wide smile. “I promise you, I will treat her right, as she deserves.”

***

_Lust._

_It was always about lust._

_Lust and power._

_Respect was a thing of the past. Nobody respected anyone anymore, oh no no no. It was lust and power, the will and desire to dominate. To humiliate. To break. Destroy._

_She knew all about it. Had felt it, tasted it._

_The vile, bitter taste of darkness, the feeling of being dominated. Broken into pieces and recreated into a toy. A pet._

_Nobody was immune against it. Nobody could run and hide from it._

_It would find you._

_It would always find you._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the description of attempted rape. Because it is such a tender subject, I have not written about the act itself, only the terror before and just as it happens. This is not meant to offend anyone or cause people to be uncomfortable.

_The world never changed, it never would. Not as long as there was filth on the streets._

_Dirty men and filthy whores, fornicating, seducing and violating. Bringing disorder and chaos into what could have been a perfect world._

_She lied, of course._

_The world would never be perfect. Not until all sapient beings were purged from the planet. Nobody was immune, nobody deserved to be spared. They were all disgusting, dirty._

_They were all tainted by the darkness, seduced by the shadows._

_The final judgement would be upon them sooner or later and she would welcome the flames that would cleanse her. That would free her from her own tainted body._

_Nobody would be spared._

_Nobody deserved to be spared._

***

The time after her father had given his blessing for them to see one another had been nothing short of amazing.

Rosmary was now able to walk with pride down the street, her hand resting on Emmet’s strong arm. To be seen with such a strong man, a man with a pure spirit and soul, it made her happy. It made her feel blessed.

Emmet was nothing short of a gentleman, asking her father for permission to pick her up and always delivered her safely back to the church before the sun was down. When he was away, fighting with the Lightbringers, he always wrote.  
Sometimes the letters would be late, but that was to be expected. A carrier pigeon or messenger was not always there in the heat of battle.  
Instead she would enjoy the letters when they came, even if Emmet was already back and at her side.

They took their sweet time, enjoying each others company, learning one another on a mental plane before Emmet took the next step. Down on one knee and a ring in his hand, he asked for her hand in marriage with only the moon and the stars as witnesses, basked in the faint light from the church.

It was perfect and of course she said yes. She knew she loved Emmet with all her heart and knew that this was the man she wished to spend the rest of her life with.

Her parents were thrilled as well when Emmet asked for their permission to wed Rosmary, and it was only a given that they would wed there in Stratholme. Emmet agreed, having no connections or family anywhere else. “Here,” he said, smile wide as he held his fiancée’s hand in his. “is my family. My new family”

Rosmary had just beamed up at Emmet, happiness clear on her face.

They had agreed on several things after their engagements; things that simply made sense for both of them.  
They wished to be married during spring, when everything was coming to life. The rebirth of all life. The start of their life together. Yes, it was in the middle of autumn so they would have to wait a while, but that was okay. It would give them time to plan everything and make it truly perfect.  
They also agreed that they would not join together in a physical way until they were wed. They wanted for their first time to be pure, holy; as husband and wife like it was supposed to be.

Rosmary’s father had wanted to perform the ceremony himself, to give them all of his blessings, but he also wanted to walk his only daughter down the aisle.  
It didn’t take a lot of talking between Emmet and her father before it was decided that they would let a close friend of the family, a priest from Lordaeron, would come and perform the ceremony. Walking Rosmary down the aisle was just something her father would not give up for anything.

Planning for the wedding was something Rosmary was taking great pleasure in doing, humming to herself as she wrote down the list of things to be done as well as the guest list along with Emmet. Must was to be prepared, but figuring out the invitations was the easiest part of the job; her family, close friends and of course Emmet’s friends from the army were all invited.  
She felt a little shameful for feeling it, but Rosmary also felt a certain pride when she and Emmet could finally walk around the city, Rosmary’s hand resting on his arm. She got small, jealous looks from the women from time to time, but far more congratulations, something that filled her with both a sense of joy as well as a smug sense of possessiveness.

Emmet was hers and they knew it.

Eventually Emmet got himself a small house in Stratholme and asked Rosmary to move in with him. She accepted, finding it to be a natural step in their relationship.  
Though a bit sooner than expected, having believed they would wait until they were married until they found something, but Emmet said that he could not continue to sleep in a borrowed bed at the church without giving something in return. Especially when there were others that surely needed it more than he did. Besides, surely it was best if they had everything ready once they started their life together as husband and wife?  
Rosmary agreed on that and with her parents’ blessings, she moved in with him.

He had prepared everything for them, the home was furnished with everything they needed and placed near the church so that Rosmary didn’t have far to go when she had duties to attend to.  
A room of her own had been prepared next to his as well, so they could honour their wants and decisions until they were wed. Once they were married, his or her room could be made into a study, a guestroom or even a nursery for when that time came.

When away he would send most of his pay for her to either put in the bank or to buy groceries or other things she or they needed, wanting to tend and care for her even when far away.

All of this and more was more than enough for Rosmary to feel like she was the luckiest and the happiest woman alive.

At least for the time being.

***

The closer they got to the time of their wedding, the tenser Emmet became.  
Rosmary could tell that he was under a pressure that he was unwilling to talk about. “Just do not think about it, my dear,” he kept saying, giving her a loving smile and a kiss to the cheek.

She was worried about him.  
Rosmary knew that there was a lot to do within the Lightbringers army; a new threat had started rising. Something different and far more lethal and unholy than orcs.

There were rumours that the dead had started to rise in the kingdom of Lordaeron.

She tried her very best to make her fiancée relax; she brought him tea, rubbed his feet and shoulders or even sitting next to his resting body, reading out loud from a book of his choice or the bible.  
Sometimes she would hold him, caress his face and shoulders, but he responded a little too well to that. They would kiss, slowly at first before Emmet turned more eager, more firm. His hands would grip at her hip or side, or run down her leg, but she would stop him before he did something she did not approve off.  
He always apologized then and said that she should leave him be. That he was just tired and needed some rest. She would always nod and give him a kiss good night before retreating to her own room, leaving Emmet to calm down.  
That particular situation did not happen often, but for each time it happened Emmet would always go just a little bit further. One more caress, one closer touch to parts she did not approve off. He always did stop though and Rosmary excused it as tension, stress. If the rumours were true then she could more than understand that Emmet needed more contact with the living, something more close and personal than his fellow soldiers could provide. And was it not a good thing that Emmet desired her both as a woman and as a wife even if they could not lay with one another just yet? That he sought contact with her and not some floozy at a bar?

Still, the newfound tension was visible and it made Rosmary worry.

With the tension came drinking.  
Emmet had never been a heavy drinker, just mead now and then with his fellow soldiers down at the inn, but now and then had turned into almost every day. While not drunk, Rosmary could smell the alcohol on his breath, especially when he pulled her close for a kiss. She didn’t mind that, not really, but it made her sometimes turn her head away with a giggle, making a remark about his breath. When it started Emmet would chuckle with her and apologize, but it became more and more common that he gave her a dark look before releasing her from his arms and walking up to his room without a word.

It worried her, she couldn’t deny that, but her worries were usually soothed in the mornings. Emmet would be a ray of sunshine, kiss her good morning and hug her before either he left because of duty or she left for her work at the church.

All in all, despite the tension, Rosmary counted herself as a lucky and blessed woman, and she wouldn’t have her life any other way. Besides, tension was normal, was it not? This would be just one of many tests on their relationship and Rosmary was not about to shun away from it.

All too soon Rosmary wished she could take that back, a mere week before she was to wed her beloved Emmet.

It was a rainy night, dark clouds covering the moon and the stars, leaving Stratholme only illuminated by the residents own small lanterns. The heavy rain drummed against the windows, and despite the warmth and light from the fire in the fireplace, Rosmary felt cold. She kept sending glancing towards the door, hoping for Emmet to return as he had promised. She had already pricked her finger three fingers three times with her needle, distracted from her needlework by her thoughts and worries.

When Emmet opened the door with a loud bang, Rosmary jumped from the surprise, dropping her needlepoint onto the floor. “Emmet!”  
She turned to look at him, gasping as she saw him just standing in the doorway, drenched. “Oh, don’t just stand there, dear! Come in!”

When he didn’t move, Rosmary got up from her chair, grabbing a small blanket that was lying on the small couch next to a table by the fireplace and brought it over to Emmet. She carefully wrapped it around his shoulders before carefully brushing the paladin’s wet hair away from his face. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Emmet, are you alright?”

The hug she received was almost crushing, strong and firm arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he pulled her firmly against his body.

“Emmet?”

Her voice was shaking now as she wrapped her own arms around Emmet’s neck, just holding him. He still didn’t answer her, only breathed hard against her neck as he buried his face against it.  
“Emmet,” Rosmary whispered, her hands shaking a little. “You are scaring me, love…”

One arm tightened the grip while the other loosened its hold on the woman’s body. A hand trailed over her back, towards her rump before gripping down hard. 

“Emmet, what ar-“ Rosmary’s words were cut short as firm lips were pressed against hers, kissing her hard. She made a muffled protest, hands gripping at Emmet’s shirt as she tried to push him away.  
Easier said than done.

The kiss ended with a strangled gasp from her and a growl from Emmet as he buried his face against her neck, nipping firmly at her skin with his teeth, fingers gripping and tugging at her clothes. She could hear the growls coming from his throat; the growls of a beast.  
This man was not Emmet. This… man, this monster was not her beloved Emmet. Sweet and kind Emmet.

“Emmet, stop it,” she cried, trying to pry his strong fingers away from her, but to no avail. Instead she was rewarded with a hand over her mouth as she was forced down onto the couch, the large paladin’s body covering her own. 

Her screams were muffled by the palm covering her lips, the same palm that had cupped her cheek so very tenderly just a couple of days ago.

When Rosmary heard the fabric of her shirt being ripped open, feeling the cold air over her bare skin, she started screaming harder, feeling terrified. She bit at the hand, clawed and kicked at the man over her, but he didn’t ease his grip on her. He did not stop the destruction of her clothes until he was satisfied. 

Tears filled her eyes as she felt a rough hand ripped away her brassiere, the fabric digging into her back before it gave way to the paladin’s strength. The same hand cupped at her bare breast hard, squeezing it enough to make her whimper in pain. Rough fingers pinched at her nipple while teeth nipped at the other breast, one hand holding her down firmly onto the couch.

This was just horrible, just horrible. Unreal. Rosmary’s head was spinning with questions, with fears and doubts. The question that screamed out the loudest was ‘why?’ Why was he doing this to her? Why was this happening? Why was he not listening to her? Why wasn’t he stopping? Why was God letting this happen?

Why, why, why?

Her head was so occupied with questions so when a rough hand started cupping her sex outside her underwear, she let out a muffled gasp of fear against his hand, her body immediately squirming to fight off the unwelcome touch. She started shaking her head, begging Emmet ‘please no’ with her eyes.  
Emmet did not look back at her. He just gripped at the front of her smallclothes, tugging it down her legs before forcefully spreading them with his own body.

The grin on his face as he looked at her naked body terrified her. There was no remorse in his look, no sign of demon-possession. This was Emmet. Her Emmet.  
And he was enjoying what he was doing.

His body was still clothed, but when he grinded his groin against her leg, she could feel the hard desire hidden inside his breeches. It was hot against her thigh; she could feel it even through the thick, cotton fabric.

‘No,’ she thought as she started fighting harder; legs kicking, fingers clawing at his face, nails digging themselves into his skin hard enough to draw blood. That earned her a slap with the hand over her mouth, the sound of his hand connecting with her cheek echoing in her ears. The same hand grabbed at her wrists and pinned them over her head hard while Emmet’s mouth was pressed against her lips to silence her screams. 

Still, the worse part was yet to come.

Rosmary barely registered that her body was released for the briefest of moments, long enough for Emmet to undo the front of his pants.  
It didn’t matter. She was paralyzed from the shock and the fear to take advantages off the situation. She felt numb, even if her heart was pounding in her chest, her blood surging in her ears, the tears from her eyes sliding down her cheeks without showing any signs of stopping.

The numbness was not enough to stop the pain that ripped through her body as Emmet pushed himself into her, making her scream.  
Once again muffled lips silenced her screams before the only sound that was heard was her muffled whimpers mixed with his grunts of pleasure.

Rosmary squeezed her eyes shut as the man started violating her body.  
How could he do this to her…?  
Did he not love her?  
Had all the sweet words he’d whispered in her ears all been a lie?  
As much as the pain ripped through her body from the intrusion into her most sacred parts, the feeling of rough hands on her body, leaving marks that would never go away… It was the pain from being betrayed… The pain of loosing all confidence in the one she had loved with all her heart, watching as he indulged himself in the sins of the flesh with her body.

‘Light, why have you forsaken me,’ she thought in desperation, having all but given up fighting him. ‘Light… Save me…”

But light never came for her, only the pain and humiliation from the act, leaving her feeling dead inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned before, this is not meant to offend anyone and I am very open for suggestion when it comes to this. I am fortunate enough to never have experienced something so horrible so I don't see myself as properly able to convey what goes through someone's mind when things like this happens. This is just based on research and interviews seen online.


	4. Chapter 4

_Every couple lied._

_There was no such thing as “equality” or respect, not from anyone._  
A man will abuse his woman, beat her, rape her, make her his slave. His plaything.  
A woman will go behind her husband’s back, fucking someone else, betraying his trust.. 

_Love is merely an illusion, oh yes.  
Love weakens, love blinds you and leaves you unable to see before its too late._

_That’s why everything had to burn. Everything had to be purged.  
Oh yes, she had seen the signs. Felt the tremors. _

_She could smell the sulphur in the air, taste it on her tongue as she looked from her dark corner, eyeing the disgusting people from her hiding spot._

_Their time would come._

_Oh yes._

***

When Rosmary married her beloved Emmet, there was nobody that notices the cracks in the perfect facade.

She was all smiles as she walked down the aisle, radiating with seemingly happiness.  
He smiled happily as well, reaching out his hand towards her, calling her beautiful and saying this was the happiest day of his life.

Nobody could see the dark bruises on her sides, hidden underneath her wedding gown.

They gave their “I do’s” without hesitation, the kiss looked sweet and loving. And as they stood together as their guest applauded, nobody would have guessed the pain that had happened just two nights before.

Over three months had passes since the night Emmet had claimed Rosmary as his own; taken her with force, demanding and finally having it.  
He had left her crying on the couch, unable to move, the shame of what had happened clear in her eyes.

She had hoped it was a dream, prayed that it was just a nightmare, but as night turned into day, she knew it had been real.   
She had hoped that Emmet would realise his mistake, apologise to her. Pray for her forgiveness, say something that would make it clear as to -why- this had happened. Anything to make the pain a little easier to handle.

But nothing came.   
He got out of bed, ate his breakfast, watching her as she was still laid on the couch, unable to move from the rough handling he had given her. Then he had left, but not before locking her into a room with no windows. He didn’t want risking her escaping after all, telling someone about what he had done. That would just ruin everything.

Rosmary knew then that the nightmare wouldn’t end with that one act.  
Almost every night Emmet would come back and he would repeat it. Sometimes it was just a quick tryst, him breaking her down onto whatever surface that would suffice.  
Other times he would take his time, tormenting her and making her beg for mercy. But mercy was never given to her. 

Slowly and steadily he broke her down until he had tamed her, threatening her and her parents if she ever breathed a word about what was going on. He abused her, crushed her spirit until he knew that she wouldn’t run to her parents for help. In less than a month, he had her broken. He would release her from the “prison”, watching her as she returned to the church, serving her parents a perfectly crafted lie about why she had been gone for so long without a word.   
‘A plea,’ she had told them, giving them both reassuring smiles. ‘Paladins wishing the aid and warmth a priestess could give them, soothing words and blessings given before and after battles with the wicked undead. A beacon of light to give them strength to press on when everything seemed dark.’  
Her parents had nodded and smiled at the poetic words, giving their daughter a proud smile, praising Rosmary for her dedication and hard work.  
They had not seen the empty look in her eyes, the way she subtly reached for their hands, wanting to ask for their help, but choking on the words. Because she knew that Emmet was watching her every move.

Soon he didn’t have to watch her. He knew that she would behave. Would return to his side, accepting the harsh treatment.

Emmet had never viewed himself as a harsh man, not really. He had a bit of a temper yes, but it served him well in battle.

But there was something that did bother him. In time, the Paladin had felt that his grasp on the light was faltering more and more though, even more so after he met Rosmary and he didn’t like it.   
He felt it was Rosmary’s fault, having tempted and teased him until he had lost his control that first night. She had deserved it. So he took out his frustration on her while holding onto every little bit of control he had over the light.  
It was hard work, but he managed. He had control.  
He liked control, craving control and this… In his mind, this was just another way of control. Making sure his woman was staying good and true while he was away. At least that was what he kept telling himself. Justifying his means.

He felt no guilt, no remorse in what he had done to her.

Rosmary was a good woman though, a good toy; a perfect doll for him to play with. Behaving and working hard when away. Submissive, and yet fighting ever so slightly when he claimed her.

He wasn’t a bad man. He just had needs and Rosmary would have done what he had desired eventually. The only difference was that they now had rings on their fingers.

It was her duty as his wife.

At least that’s what he told himself, every time he saw the red marks on his wife’s body. Heard the whimpers, the silent pleas, the hurt look in her eyes.

Besides, she wasn’t even protesting that hard anymore.   
Just when he got very rough.   
He was rough though because he liked that, liked that fight in his woman. Meant that she wasn’t broken, just tamed.

And Rosmary was tamed, at least for the most part.  
She didn’t want to see the ugliness inside Emmet. She didn’t want his face to get pulled into that horrible sneer, see that darkness in his eyes. She didn’t want him to lift his hand and strike her.  
She knew she deserved it.  
If she had just been a better wife, a better woman… Then he wouldn’t have to do it.

That’s what he told her. Ever since that first night, that’s what he’d said.  
And surely people could see it and if they didn’t do something, then it had to be so, right?

She just didn’t know and that in turn helped prove Emmet’s points. That she was stupid, unworthy. A bad wife.

She still prayed though. Every night, before he came to bed, she prayed to the light to save her. She hadn’t lost faith, not completely, but for every unanswered prayer and every bad thing Emmet did to her, her hope and faith got smaller.  
Like a flame that was slowly choking.  
By now, only the dying embers of the once so strong faith was still burning inside her and she was desperately trying to fuel the flame.

But it was hard, so very, very hard…

For weeks, months, she endured the pain, the humiliation as Emmet did what he wanted with her.   
A few times she had stopped resisting, hoping it would be over quicker then, but Emmet would always find one way to make her fight. She quickly learned that unless she responded, it would just go on longer and the punishments would be harder.  
So she fought when she was supposed to and was submissive the rest of the time.

Nobody suspected anything.

It was hard to understand why someone just couldn’t see what was going on, but then again, Emmet had done his job well.  
And Rosmary helped covering it up, even without realising it herself.

Emmet had such a good grip on her that despite the fact that Rosmary never left the house, she could still entertain guests.  
Her parents visited often and Rosmary would play the part of the perfect wife; happy and feeling the bliss of being home, taking care of the house for her beloved Emmet as well as tending to her husband.

On the rare occasions she happened to have visible bruises, she dismissed it with a laugh, even showing them properly. “I am so clumsy,” she would say before telling a well-practiced story of how it happened.  
She had done it so many times that lying became second nature.  
In time, she didn't even have to practice the stories. She just took them out of the air as naturally as breathing.

She was, in short, turning out perfect for him.  
She just needed a little more training, a little more taming.

So as Emmet continued his control, his ways of "teaching Rosmary her place", Rosmary took it all. Everything that Emmet gave her, she took with an almost hungry look in her eyes.  
Hungry for affection, for love.  
For the approval of her husband.  
Just so he didn't have to beat her anymore.  
Because if she was good, if she was perfect, then he wouldn't need to do that anymore. Not ever again.

She had still hoped that someone would discover it. That someone could approach her in the brief windows when she was alone and ask if she was okay.  
Emmet was away after all, often fighting with his troop and leaving her alone to tend to the house.  
She was alone so often. She could speak to someone at so many occasion, but she was afraid.  
She was afraid Emmet would find out and become disappointed with her.  
She was afraid that Emmet would hurt her or, at worse, leave her.  
She couldn't bare the thought of him leaving her.

Besides, Emmet didn't beat her that often anymore.   
She was the perfect wife for him, after all. Giving him what he wanted, when he wanted it and however he wanted it.  
She cooked, she cleaned, she entertained and she behaved.

She was perfect.  
At least she tried to be.

But sometimes panic took over. Sometimes she wanted to get away, she didn't want to be punished for not being good enough, and that's when that beast came out.   
That horrible, horrible beast.

The beast that would hurt her, force her down, take her with force... He would make her cry in shame and pain.  
And he would enjoy it.

He always enjoyed it.

And Rosmary didn't.  
She never had.

***

Emmet was still gone the day a man from the Silver Hand came to her door, knocking on it firmly with a gloved hand.  
When Rosmary opened it and saw the tabard, she gasped, immediately thinking that something had happened to her husband.

"No, no, your husband is fine," the man had reassured her before gesturing towards the living room. "May I come in, ma'am?"

Rosmary was sceptical, but eventually nodding, opening the door and letting the stranger inside.  
"What brings you here," she asked softly, her voice gentle. Careful.  
Men... tended to make her nervous these days.

"Forgive me, I am being so rude," the man said, turning to look at Rosmary before bowing.  
"My name is James Rowe, I am a paladin with the Silver Hand. I have... Served with your husband, Emmet."

"Is he well," Rosmary asked, gesturing towards the small, lit living room.   
"Tea, Ser Rowe?"

"Oh, no thank you," James declined, sitting down onto one of the chairs, the helmet he had held under his arm shifted and placed onto the floor.  
"And yes, Emmet is good. He is mostly in high spirits, but I suspect that he is missing his wife."

Rosmary smiled while pouring herself a cup with tea, her hand slightly trembling.  
"Well, his wife misses him terribly so if you see him, make sure you tell him."

"I will do so, ma'am, but... I did wish to talk to you," James said in a careful voice, lowering it as if afraid the walls had ears.  
"About Emmet. If you will indulge me."

Rosmary raised an eyebrow, carefully adding some sugar and honey into her tea.  
"That entirely depends on what you wish to discuss with me, Ser."

"His fellow troop-members are... Concerned about him. Despite being in good spirits when gathered with his fellow paladins, but there is something on his mind. Something... Heavy. I dare say dark."  
The paladin leaned a little forward, resting his elbows onto his thighs as he looked at Rosmary.  
"Have you noticed anything of the sort, ma'am? Anything... Different about your husband?"

"Different how?" Rosmary asked, a slight frown on her face.  
"I have not noticed anything different save from him being a little stressed. There has been a lot of dangerous things going on as of late. Orcs, invaders. It would be enough to make anyone a little stressed, no?"

"Of course, ma'am, forgive me," the man said quickly, placing his hand over his chest and bending his head in a small apologetic gesture.  
"I did not mean to insult you, your husband or anything of the sort. I am merely raising a concern that has been a... worry for the troop."

"Well, you have nothing to be worried about here."

"I am glad to hear so," James replied.  
"We were happy when Emmet announced his engagement to such a fine woman such as yourself. He seemed happy, blessed. Calm. We had not seen him like that in quite a bit of time."

"... Oh?"  
Rosmary quickly lifted the cup of tea to her lips, nipping at it so the man would not see her biting her bottom lip.

"Oh yes. Emmet is one of our fiercest warriors, but as a paladin... He was starting to lack. We believed he was starting to loose sight of himself, but then it seemed like he found it again. Faith wavering happens from time to time, but it was worrisome... The light was not as responsive to him as it had been."

"I... see," Rosmary said slowly.  
"But if he seems all the better now, then I see no reason for concern."

"I would agree, but he has not turned better. He seems more... Aggressive now. I can understand it, he has a wife he wishes to fight and protect, but... We are merely worried."

"Well, there is no reason for concern," Rosmary repeated, placing the cup back onto the table hard.  
"So if there was nothing else..?"

"It was not," the paladin said, getting up from his chair after picking his helmet up from the floor.  
"Forgive me, ma'am, I did not mean to overstay my welcome."  
He walked towards the door, but as his hand landed on the door-handle, he turned and looked towards her.  
"... But if anything happens, ma'am... Anything at all. Know that you can come to the Silver Hand and get help."

"I will remember that. Thank you, Ser Rowe," Rosmary said, walking towards him so she could see him out.

"Then I bid you a good day, ma'am," James said, bowing his head at her before leaving the house.  
Rosmary quickly shut and closed the door behind him before turning and leaning her back against the hard, wooden surface. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breath was quick and uneven.   
So close... It had been so close...  
But she wasn't sure exactly what had been "so close"... So close that her Emmet would be caught doing something bad..?   
Or so close to grasping a hand that was reaching out towards her, wanting to help her out of the darkness Emmet was covering her in.

She honestly did not know.

And that thought frightened her.

***

_Fire would rain from the sky. Fire and brimstone and lava and sulphur.  
Everything would burn. Everyone would burn._

_Everyone._

_From the lowest rat trying to crawl into their little holes to the mightiest king, hiding in his fortress.  
Nothing could withstand the fire and flames from the mightiest of hell._

_Everything would burn._

_The dirt, the grim, the disgusting slime that was covering their world._

_Yes...  
Yes..._

_Everything would burn._

_Soon.  
So very, very soon._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter once again comes with a warning as there is attempted rape going on.  
> Read at your own discression.

_The sulphur in the air gets thicker and thicker._

_I can smell it. Smell it over the dirt and grime and the nasty smell from all the disgusting people that lingered in this rat-infested hole they call a city._

_It is obvious. I can feel the tremors in the ground.  
He is coming. _

_It will all be over soon._

***

It didn't get better.  
Maybe it had been stupid of her to even hope for it, but she did. That tiny part in her heart that longed for the days where Emmet had been a good man, a loving man.  
She hadn't wanted to see, maybe she still didn't want to see, but she hoped. 

But the hope turned smaller and smaller until nothing was left but dying ember in her heart.

It was strange.  
The more often Emmet left, the more she longed for his return, but when he returned, he never returned with love. Not anymore. If anything, he just seemed angrier for each time.  
She had tried to ask what had made him so angry, but he never answered.  
Instead he took it out on her. Always on her.  
Beatings, rape, he took whatever he wanted. Each time became more violent and with each episode, Rosmary prayed less and less until all she could do was beg. Beg for something to take her. Claim her spirit, her soul and release her from the pain.  
It never happened though. It probably never would.

Only once did Emmet to actually show love and concern again and that was the time he accidentally twisted her arm so hard that he broke it.  
She had managed to glossy it over as an accident, of course. She had tripped with a full basket of laundry while ascending the stairs. Ever so clumsy, she had laughed as the healer had set her arm, healed it and wrapped it up.  
Emmet had cried that night. Cried and kneeled by her side and begged for forgiveness. That he would never, ever lay a hand on his beautiful and precious wife again, that he loved her so much that it hurt and that he had never, ever meant for this to happen.

And Rosmary had believed him.  
Just like she always did.

A foolish thing to do, as she would later realise.

It was raining badly, the night where everything would change.

A storm had just come over Stratholme, dark cloud covering the night sky with only the occasional lightning striking over the sky, illuminating the wet buildings and streets.  
Rosmary's arm had healed and she was currently waiting for her beloved Emmet to come back home from being out, ever playing the role of dutiful and faithful wife as she sat in a soft chair by the lit fireplace, knitting.  
It was a gift for Emmet, a soft scarf he could wear now that the weather was turning worse and winter was coming.

She was actually starting to feel more bliss in her home.  
Ever since the accident, Emmet had not been violent in the slightest. He had been a little tense, almost skittish, but Rosmary knew in her heart that he was probably feeling guilty of what had happened between them.  
But she was ready to forgive and forget for him because she could finally see the loving man she had fallen for when they first met.  
She had always known he was in there.

She should have known it earlier. She should have realised it.  
She should have admitted to herself from the first day he laid a hand on her.

What had happened in the past, it had been like a nightmare, but as she looked up when she heard the door to their house slam open, the nightmare had taken a human form and was staring at her with a downright hateful look in-between the wet, long and blond strands of hair.

"Emmet?" Rosmary put away her knitting and got up from her chair.  
She should have felt fear. She should have followed the voice in her head that begged for her not to approach her husband.  
"Look at you, dear, you are drenched! Let me fill up the bath for you so you can heat up, there is stew ready in the kitchen. Maybe some spiced wine will-"

She never got to finish her sentence as a hand struck her hard against the face, sending her flying into the wall in the narrow hallway from the force. She had offered no resistance because she had not expected it.  
She got no time to recover from it either. As quick as the storm had come over Stratholme, Emmet was over her, grabbing her hard by the arm and tugged her back up, only to slam her hard into the wall.  
"Who did you speak to?!" he roared, his face twisted with anger.

"I-I don't know w-what you a-are talking about," Rosmary stuttered, her eyes wide with fear and worry.  
"I-I have n-not spoken to a-anyone, I s-swear!"

"Liar," Emmet growled, releasing her from his grasp, only to slap her hard over the face again.  
A cry of pain escaped her, only to be struck again with such force that it sent her crashing onto the floor.

"Don't you speak, you whore," Emmet spat, standing over his small, trembling wife, hands clenched into fists.  
"I don't want to hear your filthy lies, your hateful words! How could you do this to us?! To me?! You are my wife, you are supposed to be faithful, to support and love me! And this is what I get from you?!"

"I swear," Rosmary gasped, barely daring to look up from the floor, her blue eyes brimming with unshed tears.  
"I d-do not know what you are t-talking about, my love. I haven't s-spoken to anyone!"

"Liar," Emmet hissed again, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her up, earning cries of pain from his little wife as he dragged her up the stairs.  
"You are a liar, a filthy whore who wants to ruin my life! But I am going to show you what happens when you disobey your husband!"

"E-Emmet, don't," Rosmary cried out before she was roughly slammed against the wall again, but the grip on her hair never loosened. Instead she was slammed again, then again, against the wall before Emmet continued to drag her into the bedroom.  
She could hardly see, her vision blurry from the hard hits to her head as well as the tears welling up in her eyes, but she could feel it. Feel the anger, the hatred that poured out of her husband. It was clouding his mind, wrapping around him like a thick fog, but what scared her was just how... accepting he was to it. He did not even try to resist it.

"Silence," Emmet yelled as he tossed Rosmary onto the bed, only to immediately pounce her.  
"You are my wife and you should honour me! You should obey me," he snarled, his hands tearing at her dress, ripping it at the seams with ease.  
"You are mine, you whore! Mine!"

He tried to lean down, tried to kiss her, but the kiss was more teeth and bite than it was lip and it made Rosmary cry out in pain.  
He continued to press her down and she could feel how hard he was against her thigh, his manhood pressing against her almost insistently. 

"You are mine," he hissed again as he pinned her hands down over her head with one of his own, large hands, the other wandering down, not even hiding the fact that he was going for her private parts.  
His nails scraped up over her thigh as they went under her dress, groping through her undergarments roughly.

'N-no,' she thought as she trashed underneath him, trying her best to squirm away from him, but he was so much stronger and bigger than him.  
As she felt a large finger push against her through her underwear, almost going inside her even through the cloth, she let out another scream, jerking her leg up as she tried to get away.  
She hadn't meant to let her knee slam into his groin; it hadn't even crossed her mind to try to harm him in such a way. It hadn't even occurred to her that she could get away like that so when he cried out in pain, the hand under her dress going for his own private parts, she froze.  
She could almost see how the darkness became bigger around her husband, how it intensified.

"You," Emmet growled, the grip around her wrist never loosening even after he had been kicked. Now it tightened further until she was sure her bones would break. "Bitch!"

"P-please," Rosmary whispered, her voice pleading, hoping to reach Emmet behind that darkness. "I-I d-didn't mean to..."

"Shut up," Emmet yelled, slapping her across the face hard before he gripped at her neck, squeezing down.  
"You always speak! Why do you always speak?!

"E-Emmet," Rosmary gasped, feeling the strong fingers press down over her windpipe, preventing her from breathing.  
'Light, this isn't happening,' she thought desperately, tugging desperately at her hands, squirming again in a desperate attempt to free herself.

But it was happening.  
Light, but it was happening.  
Emmet's large hands were on her, around her neck, slowly choking her, cutting off her air, leaving her gasping and aching on the floor.  
And the light was not coming for her.

No. The only thing that swam across her vision was darkness. The only thing listening, coming to claim her was darkness.  
There was no room for light. Not here.

The light could not reach the level of hell where she found herself.

But darkness could.  
Darkness had already claimed her husband a long time ago and now it was coming for her.

For the first time in her life, she welcomed it.

***

She became so still. So very, very still in his hands.  
She stopped gasping, stopped squirming. The clawing hands at his hands, his face his shoulders stilled, then fell to the ground.

Emmet breathed out hard, not having realised that he had held his breath.  
The red haze that had laid itself over his eyes slowly lifted and then he saw it.

Rosmary was laying still; her already pale, beautiful face now had a blue hue to it. The tell-tale sight of bruises was forming on her neck. Bruises that had the shape of his hands.  
Her breast was still, unmoving.  
There was not the slightest little sound coming from her.  
She almost looked peaceful. Eyes closes, one hand having fallen over her midsection, the other over her head. Blue-tinted lips slightly parted.  
She almost looked as she was asleep.

"... Rosmary," he whispered, his voice still rough.  
"... Come on, honey, don't be like this... I... I am sorry, I... I just got a little mad," he added, a small chuckle escaping him as his hand gently cupped her cheek, the other lifting her head slightly up from the floor.  
"Darling..? Please, speak to me... I... I didn't mean to..."

But he had and he knew it. He had meant to and now the consequences were lying in his arms. The fruit of his anger evident in the bruises and the so-very still body of his darling wife.

He had killed her.

By the light he had just murdered his own wife.

"Darling... Rosmary. Please. Please wake up," Emmet cried out, grasping her shoulders and shaking her hard.  
Her head jerked around like a rag doll as he shook her and for a moment he was afraid that he had snapped her neck. It was just hanging from her shoulders, limp.  
In desperation, he called for the light, willing it to his hands as he tried to use the little healing magic he knew, but to no avail.  
The light wasn't listening to him anymore. He didn't deserve it.

"Shit," he whispered, licking his lips nervously as his eyes darted from side to side.

What was he going to do now?  
If the people of Stratholme found out that he had killed the minister's daughter... He would be hanged.  
He couldn't let them know. He could never let them know.  
He would just have to get rid of the body.  
And he knew exactly how to do it.

***

_Yes, yes, it is getting hard to breathe.  
The air is thick, getting thicker and with each breath it will get harder. The smoke, the gas, the sulphur; it will fill their lungs and it will choke them._

_It will choke all of them._

_Oh, how I long for that to happen. For the darkness to claim me once again._

_To take me away from all this stinking rot, the dirt, the smells, the sight._

_Take me away from all the filth. Let the darkness claim me, claim them all._  
_The darkness will cleanse us._  
_The fire will cleanse us._  
_Everything will be better._

_Everything._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rosmary learns that there's something else you can use in the absence of light.

_I feel them._

_I feel the flames, burning as brightly, as powerfully as that day.  
The day when I burned my life to the ground._

_I burned it all, burned the disgusting memories, the disgusting belongings, everything that reminded me of that disgusting human being._

_Flames are all-powerful._

_Flames are cleansing._

_I can hear it; death is coming on black wings. The filthy rats of Stormwind knows too; they cover and hide in their filthy hiding-places._

_But the flames will find them._

_It will all burn._

***

Emmet snuck her out under the darkness of the night, her body covered by a sheet as he carried her in his arms.  
He had to be quick, couldn't let anyone see him so he clung to the shadows.

It was still raining; the storm was still raging so luck was with him. Not a soul was on the stone-covered streets and most of the houses were dark.  
People were asleep, as they were supposed to.

It was surprisingly easy to sneak past the few guards that walked about; they weren't doing their best this evening, not with the horrible weather, and their lanterns that could only cast so much light.  
If Emmet cared, he would have reported them to the city guards, but he did not care. Not tonight.  
Tonight he was only interested in getting away.

After slipping out the city's main gates, Emmet hurried down towards the forest area surrounding Stratholme, not making a sound even as the tree's branches scratched over his face and arms.  
He could barely feel the cold rain soaking his tunic, the way his long, blond hair sticking to his face.  
The only thing that mattered was getting rid of the body he was carrying as fast as possible.

He didn't walk far into the forest, not wanting to get lost in the darkness. He hadn't thought about bringing a lantern of his own, but in a way, he was glad he hadn't. He would get spotted more easily if he carried one.  
"And I am not going to be caught because of you," he growled as he dumped Rosmary's body rather un-ceremonially onto the hard dirt-ground, even giving her a small glare, as if this was her fault.

He then realised that in his haste to get out of the city, he had completely forgotten to bring anything to dig with.  
He considered for a moment just leaving her; surely the wild animals in the forest would dispose of her, but it could take days. That and with the rain and thunder it was unlikely that anything was outside now. If that continued, then the risk of a hunter or woodsman finding her was high and he just couldn't risk that.  
He could run back into town, but if he was caught like this, carrying a shovel, the guards would surely question him.

Emmet bit his lip, frowning as he looked at the ground. He kneeled down and dug his fingers into the moist grass and soil, easily grasping and removing two handfuls of the soil.

He would just have to do this the hard way.

Emmet had no idea just how long he was going at it, digging the hole with his hands like a dog. He tried to push and drag as large an amount of soil as he could, but it was slow work. The lack of light saves from the occasional lightning strike, made it hard to see just how far along he had gotten, and the constant stream of water pouring into his eyes quickly became an annoyance.  
The anger just fuelled him along with the desperation so he kept going, kept digging until his fingers became sore. The further down into the soil he got, the harder it became to dig, his fingers scraping over rocks and hardened clay.

Hours must have passed before he stood up, or at least it felt like hours had passed. It was still dark so it was hard to tell, the mountains surrounding the horizon making it hard to properly judge how close to sunrise it was.  
He was tired, his arms ached and he was dirty and wet from digging, but as he looked down, he could see the hole he had dug up and the sight made him smile.

The hole was shallow, but it was deep enough for a small woman like Rosmary and he was certain that, in time, insects and animals would finish her remains without much issue.  
By the time she was found, Emmet would have left after fabricating a story about her disappearance.  
He had considered saying she had run away with another man, but he doubted that anyone would believe that. Rosmary was a priestess and a respected person, and nobody in the town would believe that a bitch such as her would have done anything so wrong.  
No, he would have to make it simpler, he thought as he lifted the body up into his arms again, then gently lowering her into the dark hole.  
A quick trip to the forest for fresh berries, perhaps? The finishing touches to a cake or pie; a surprise waiting as she waited for the return of her darling husband.  
Yes, that sounded more like her.

Emmet couldn't help but grin as he stood over her, one leg on each side of her body.  
Even in death she looked pretty, he noted. The rain had soaked her to the bone, making the long, black hair cling to her face and the thin dress cling to her body, showing off her forms.  
He placed an arm over his chest and lowered his head, saying a quick prayer for her before kneeling down so he could start covering her with the soil.

"Nothing personal, darling," he said as he started covering her up, starting with her legs.  
"But I cannot let you ruin me like this. You should have listened, and continued to be the pretty, perfect wife you were."  
He frowned some as he shifted around to cover her hips and lower abdomen with the dirty.  
"I loved you, you know. You were a good wife. You were good. You were everything I wanted in a wife. So why did you have to ruin it, huh? We had a good things going, you and I. Why ruin it?"

The only answer Emmet got was the lightning flashing over the black sky, quickly followed by the rumbling thunder.  
He continued working, slowly covering up his wife's body with the dirt until her head remained. He was far from done, but he wanted a last good-bye with the woman he had once called wife.

"I will miss you," he murmured, his voice choking up as he looked down at her face. He reached down and cupped her pale cheek, smudges of dirt appearing on the porcelain skin as he touched her.  
"I will make sure that your memory is a good one. It... You deserve that much."

It was true. He regretted her passing and she -was- a good woman.   
But he felt no remorse for what he had done because she -had- deserved it by denying him.  
It was simply a thing that had to be done and this was the consequence.

"Good bye, my love," he whispered as a final word, leaning down to press a kiss against Rosmary's cold lips, letting it linger.

However, when he tried to pull away, he felt that he couldn't.

In fact, he felt himself slowly getting very, very tired.

Letting out a strangled gasp, he tried to push away from Rosmary, only to let out a choked scream as he felt cold, strong hands grasp at his head.   
His eyes jerked up and he felt horror sink in as he stared into the wide, blue eyes of his dead wife.  
His dead wife was holding his head in an iron grip, her mouth firmly attached to his and all he knew is that he couldn't break the hold on her.  
He let out another scream, but once again it was muffled, swallowed by Rosmary's mouth as he felt all his energy was being sucked out of it.

Emmet started aching, he could feel everything leaving him from the inside and it was all too late when he realised just what was going on.  
Rosmary was sucking the very life out of him.

His last thought before the darkness seemed to swallow him up from the inside was of Rosmary and how ironic the situation was. The light had left him and now, only darkness remained.  
As Emmet slumped down onto her, Rosmary just laid there, shivering, feeling the all-to-familiar weight of her husband slowly crushing her down. She was panting, almost hyperventilating, as she put her hands under him and slowly pushed him off of her, rolling him over so she could crawl out of the shallow grave she was on.

She had no memory of what had happened, just that darkness had claimed her and that a voice, a low, dark voice had told her that it would give her a gift.  
The gift of life, should she find it in her to accept.  
And she had. She wanted to live, wanted to break free, wanted to be away from the darkness.  
And she had managed to open her eyes as Emmet kissed her and she had used the gift. She had taken back what Emmet had stolen from her and now... Now she was alive again.  
Yet she felt hollow, broken, as if something inside of her was missing and she wasn't sure what it was. 

'The light,' she realised as she sat on the ground, shivering as the cold rain continued to pour down over her.  
'I cannot sense or hear the light anymore.'  
The light, her trusted companion and friend since she was but a girl, who's power and energy hummed and sang to her... It was silent.

Emmet had taken the light from her and now she only had darkness. As Rosmary realised this, she became aware of the throb and pulses from it, how it clung to her, caressed her.  
'The darkness,' she thought as a choked sob broke from her. 'It's come for me... It is my friend now.'  
As the realisation hit her, she could almost hear the sound of chittering, like something was trying to talk to her, encourage her. Reassuring her that she was not alone, that she had a new friend now.

Another broke sob escaped her as she pulled her knees up to her chest, feeling how the cold darkness started filling her up.  
There was no escape from it, it was already there. It had already taken the place of the light.

She remained out there, face pressed into her hands as she sobbed; sobbed for all she had lost.  
She had lost Emmet, her husband, her darling friend, but when she could not really answer.  
She had lost her innocence, her confidence.   
She had even lost the light and because of it, her purpose. Without the light, how could she ever follow in her parents’ footsteps. How could she even return back to Stratholme, being darkened like this?  
Would they understand? Would they accept her as she was now; dirtied, broken?

Rosmary did not know, nor did she know if she had the courage to find out.

The sun had barely started to rise when she made her way back to the city, a dead look in her eyes. She had left Emmet in the grave, not even bothering to move him or cover him in dirt. He did not deserve the effort, she had decided. It had pained her at the same time as it had soothed her when the thought had slipped into place.  
Punishment... Penance. She could understand that and this...? This was his punishment. One for one, she decided.  
She walked with purpose, though the steps were slow and pained. She could hear the guards call for her, some even dashed to her side, asking if she needed aid, but she didn't respond. She merely walked on, ignoring them, even as they called her by name. She was known after all, as the daughter of a priest and priestess.

Her steps took her to the house she had once shared with Emmet and as she stepped inside, she couldn't help the nausea that filled her.  
This house... It was a house of bad memories, of pain and suffering.  
Everything had been lost in this house and she knew she couldn't stand to remain in it.  
She couldn't remain in the city period.

"Madam?" a careful voice said behind her and as she turned around, she could see two guards standing behind her, a concerned look on their faces. "... Are you alright? You walked here as if in a daze..." one of them asked, a man, with dirty blond hair sticking out from underneath his helmet and green eyes.   
He was young, probably only twenty years of age, she noted.

Rosmary smiled, the forced action coming surprisingly easy. "I am just fine, guardsman. I realise I must look quite the fright, but I am fine. However, I need a favour from you. Could you help me?"

"Certainly, madam," the guard said, straightening up.

"I need a messenger to deliver a note to my parents," she said, her voice calm, collected. She was surprising herself with how calm she was, but she realised that it was just part of her now. The mask she had crafted to herself during the marriage with Emmet was whole and she could still use it.  
"But it is important that it is not delivered until a certain time. Can you do that?"

"I can certainly get a messenger here, madam," the guard said. "When would you like one here?"

"In an hour would be fine," Rosmary said as she turned around. "I will be more... Presentable then." She knew how she must have looked; her wet dress smudged with dirt along with her skin, her hair wet and tangled.

"Of course, madam," the guard said, giving her a sharp salute before heading off.  
His partner was not as eager to leave and only when he moved aside, did Rosmary see that it was a woman.  
She looked at her, her brown eyes intense as she took in the state of Rosmary's attention.

"... Are you sure you are fine, madam?" she asked carefully, her voice concerned. "You do look like you have been in a tough spot."

"I am just fine," Rosmary said, her smile still in place. "I was merely helping my husband last night with some trouble, in the forest. I spend all night there, healing and giving aid to a poor soul who had collapsed from injuries."

"Is he okay," the guard immediately asked, though the look on her face still remained. Rosmary couldn't place it and it concerned her.  
She couldn't let the woman know what had happened. She couldn't take that shame.

"We are not sure. He is not well enough to be moved so I need to get back there as soon as possible," Rosmary said, letting a sadder look appear on her face.   
"... I fear for his life, in all honesty. In fact," she hummed while she placed a hand on her chin. "Perhaps you can help me?"

"Of course, madam," the guard said. "What do you need?"

"Well, depending on the poor man's fate, we will need a messenger, either to alert the healer or, Light forbid it, alert my parents to prepare his funeral," Rosmary said while closing her eyes, placing the hand over her heart.  
"I will, of course, do the final rites in the forest should it come to that, but he will deserve something proper."

"Of course, madam," the guard repeated. "Should I wait her while you get ready?"

"Yes, please do," Rosmary said while pushing the door open. "I shouldn't be long and you can greet the messenger when they come, should I not be ready."

The guard nodded and stepped inside the home, looking around for a moment as she removed her helmet. "You have a lovely home, madam," she complimented, letting her helmet rest carefully under one of her arms as she stepped into the living room.

"Thank you," Rosmary said with a small smile, closing and locking the door behind the guard before she headed towards the stairs. "Please, do sit down or help yourself to something to drink. There is cider in the basement, should you want some."

"You are most kind," the female guard said with a small smile, looking a bit more relaxed as she stepped further into the house.

Rosmary merely waved her hand at her before slowly heading up the stairs, her mind reeling. She needed to get the woman away or she would ruin everything.  
Exactly what everything was, Rosmary didn't know. It was like something else was running her body, her mind and she knew she had a plan before she had even known she had needed one.  
A plan to help her escape this horrible house and every bad memory.

Walking into the small washing room they had next to their bedroom, Rosmary filled up a washing-basinet with cold water before stripping out of her dirty and torn clothes. She dipped some cloth into the water and started washing her body, not caring that the water was more or less freezing. She just wanted to be clean again, but no matter how much she scrubbed at her skin, making the pale skin red from the effort, she still felt dirty.  
Closing her eyes, Rosmary tried to ignore the constant chittering that was going on at the back of her head. She could not make out the words, she didn’t want to because she knew it was not good, but at the same time she tried to listen, tried to understand.  
They were telling her things, telling her what to do and how to do it.

She had no idea how much time she spent washing herself and listening to the chittering, but after a while she gave up, tossing the dirty cloth into the dirty water before standing up and walking naked to the bedroom.  
Once inside she just stared at the bed, stared at it with a look of pure hatred as she thought of all the pain she had felt while laying on it.   
Small hands grasped and held onto her feet and she could hear the chittering again and this time, she understood what they said.

She wanted the bed gone, she should burn it.

Then she hesitated, surprised by her own anger and hate before managing to pull herself more or less together again. She had to prepare to get out of here.

She hesitated for another moment before she located a small bag from the closet, stroking her hands over the fine silk.   
This... This would have to do.

She immediately started stuffing it full of clothes and books, anything she believed she would need. At times she would drag something out and toss it aside in favour of something else, only to change her mind and retrieved it.   
She even emptied it out two times before repacking it again.   
In the end, she had packed down everything she wanted that did not remind her of Emmet; one simple white robe and one blue, some smallclothes, a hairbrush, some jewellery that she had gotten from her parents, a couple of books and, of course, their money-pouch. It wasn't much, but would be enough until she could find something else. They had been good when it came to watching their expenses.  
This, she thought, would have to do.

She paused, just looking into her bag, pondering about what to do when she heard a sharp knock on the door, then the steps of the guard as she headed towards the door. “Madam, I believe the messenger is here. Should I open the door?”

Rosmary swore under her breath, only to clamp both hands over her mouth.   
She had sworn. She never swore.  
The thought that an hour had already passed had completely caught her off-guard and she didn’t feel ready. “Y-yes,” she called out as she quickly tugged a simple cotton dress over her head, not caring about undergarments or stockings just yet. She looked fine, nobody would know about her state of undress.  
“I will be but a moment,” she called out when she heard the door open, quickly dragging her brush through her hair to get rid of the worse of the tangles while ignoring the faint laughter that came from the shadows in the room.

As soon as she deemed herself presentable, not thinking too much about the fact that she was naked underneath his dress, Rosmary headed downstairs, giving the female guard and the messenger a smile. “I am sorry for being so late,” she said. “I dreamt myself away while in the tub.”

“No trouble at all, ma’am,” the messenger said, adjusting the cap he was wearing. He was young, younger than the first guard had been and he looked unfocused.   
Uninterested.   
It would be perfect.   
“I was told you had a message?”

“Yes,” Rosmary said as she walked over to the kitchen-table and located some parchment and a quill. “I need you to deliver a message to my parents, at the church,” she added while quickly writing down what she wanted to say: just a quick message goodbye, telling them how much she loved them and that she was leaving with Emmet to seek a new life.  
She could not let them know of her shame. Not yet.

After writing the note, she carefully rolled it up and tied it with a piece of string before handing it to the messenger along with three gold-coins. “Please, have this delivered in exactly an hour,” she said, smiling gently. “I believe they have a sermon now.”

“Of course, ma’am. Thank you,” the messenger said, quickly bowing before he walked outside, coins in his pocket and message in hand.  
Closing the door after him, Rosmary let out a small sigh of relief before turning around, almost jumping when she saw the female guard. She had almost forgotten that she was there.

“Everything okay, madam?” the guard asked, once again giving Rosmary a suspicious look, one Rosmary easily deflected with one of her practiced smiles.

“It will be very soon. Now, I will just find my holy book and we can leave to help my husband with the poor injured soul.”  
Rosmary ran her fingers over her chin, looking thoughtful. “In fact, while I prepare, can you go down into the cellar and pack a small basket of food and water? He will need his strength if we are to transport him here.”

“Of course madam,” the guard said, giving Rosmary a small bow before heading down to the cellar.  
Rosmary watched as the woman vanished into the darkness, then slowly picked up a lantern that was standing on the kitchen-table. She lit it, then let the flame become stronger. “You will need a lantern,” she called down before heading into the darkness after the guard. “Allow me to bring you one.”

“Most kind, I was about to ask for one, madam,” the guard said, giving Rosmary a smile as she walked over to the barrels carrying fruit. “You can put it on the floor.”

“Of course,” Rosmary murmured, looking at the guard before slamming the lantern hard over her head, making her stumble forward with a pained gasp, glass and oil going everywhere. Before the guard could react, she hit her again, this time with the brass-base, then another, sending the broken glass into the woman’s throat.  
She watched in silence as the guard slumped forward, twitching and bleeding on the floor until there was no movement.  
“Thank you,” she murmured and dropped the lantern, then headed back upstairs to the first floor. She closed the door to the cellar and locked it, hesitating for a moment before going back upstairs to fetch her bag. She looked at herself in the mirror, inspecting her appearance before deciding that there were no splatters of blood on her dress. She then slowly headed downstairs and put the bag down by the door before she picked up another lantern from the living room. The brass-base was full with oil and she carefully removed the glass cap that held the flame, inspecting the oil before pouring it over the floor. She didn’t have much, but it would be enough for what she had in mind. When the lantern was empty, she tossed it towards the fireplace before picking up the last lantern that was downstairs; she lit it and brought it with her to the front-door. With one last look to her home, Rosmary picked up her bag before tossing the lantern hard back into the house. It only took a second for the oil on the ground to catch fire and once she was certain the flames had taken root, she closed and locked the door before leaving her house.

She was already halfway out of the city when the first alarms started sounding, alerting the city of the fire.  
However, she did not stop until she was back outside, back to where she had left Emmet. She gave her husband a look before looking towards Stratholme, watching as she saw the thick, black smoke come from somewhere inside.

There was nothing there for her now.

Her memories, her life, her innocent had all been ruined a long time ago and all she could do was burn it.  
Burn it to the ground and burn it away from her life.

She would be on her own now.

She would forge herself a new way.

***

_The sound of screams is filling the air along with the sound of our just fate._

_It is as it must be and I can feel myself grin as the heat starts rising._

_Yes, yes, this is it. This is how it must be._

_The flames of the master of death will purge us all and we will all be pure._

_I will once again be pure._


End file.
